


Phantom Memories

by Alexandrite811



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Established Will/Elizabeth, Faithful/Unfaithful Marriage, Longing, M/M, Memories, Minor Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Past Will/Jack, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl AU, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-25
Updated: 2004-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandrite811/pseuds/Alexandrite811
Summary: "She taunts me, whispering and teasing me with her scent, she knows that I want her, that I long to unite with her once more, but she knows something else; she knows that she has something that I want"





	Phantom Memories

I turn over onto my side of the bed and close my eyes. I have done my duty and taken her once again, just as I will take her again tomorrow. That is my duty as her husband; to cherish her body and soul, to adore her and care for her - to love her. And I have done my duty; all but the last.

 

I cherish her body which in itself is a work of art and mastery, of lines and balance that a blacksmith and crafter of swords would longingly admire, and I did. I cherish her soul though anyone would likewise cherish it after having witnessed its fire and beauty. I adore her, she saved me and gave me kindness and belonging. She gave my life meaning and I have adored and cared for her both. I defied my sense of right and wrong, broke the law, befriended a pirate, became one, and went to the Isle of the Dead for her… all for her. If that isn’t adoration and care, I can offer no more, because I lack the final necessity to complete my duties by her. I do not, nor cannot love her.

 

I face the window, staring out beyond the sheer curtains and paneled glass, out to the darkness of night and the brilliant display of stars that guide the world through those depths.

 

Any minute now, she will stretch luxuriously under the silk sheets, her body and face flushed with the passion and the heat we created, and then she will turn to me, her arms wrapping possessively, and suffocating, around my waist. She will pull closer, plastering herself to my back, place a kiss on my shoulder blade, whisper “I love you”, then fade into dreams.

 

While she dreams, I wait…

 

I wait for the time to pass, her grip to loosen and space to grow between our bodies. I wait for her to shift in her sleep as she always does and turn over to her side of the bed. Then I untangle myself from the sheets, and tugging on a pair of breeches, I make my way toward the window and the cool night air.

 

Since a fortnight after our wedding, it has been this way. That was two years ago, and this habit has become close to an addiction. I need the night and the smell of the sea; the glass panels are too much of a barrier and as always, I eliminate the barrier. Leaning out against the now open windowsill, I stand and gaze out to the sweet temptress that is the sea. In a way, the sea is my mistress as every night I leave the embrace of my wife and seek the distant but soothing embrace of her arms.

 

Even from the house I can feel her pull and hear her laugh. She taunts me, whispering and teasing me with her scent, she knows that I want her, that I long to unite with her once more, but she knows something else; she knows that she has something that I want. She knows, and she keeps it to herself. I can’t blame her…

 

I would do the same, after all, I desire it as well.

 

As if sensing my thoughts, she blows a cool wind up from her depths and I sink into it and breath it in.

 

She is enjoying herself tonight at my expense because on the breeze she sends me a scent I know so well: the scent of sea and salt deepened by musk and rum. It could be days old, leagues old, it doesn’t matter. She knows what I want and takes great pains to remind me that she has it and I that I can only feed my obsession with the snatches she graciously sends my way.

 

The scent is strong tonight and consequently so are the memories…

 

The sheer curtains move in the breeze, fluttering against my back, reminding me of fingers that had once skillfully caressed my skin in the secrecy of darkness. Fingers, callous and rough, belonging to a hand, equally and deceptively callous and rough. Hands that went on to form arms, tan and strong and scarred. Thin and toned by time and labor at sea, the arms were like steel when needed and soft and warm when desired. They were arms that brought comfort and ease.

 

Phantom arms that had once been flesh and real against my own skin, arms that had simply held me many nights when nothing more was required of the owner. Nights when nothing was desired from me.

 

Now it is desired, but it is no longer possible.

 

Beyond the bonds of sanctified marriage, there was the impossibility of what we had had. Would what had bloomed in darkness and grown quickly, survive in light and weather through all time? It had weathered two years already… two years without any touch beyond the haziness of dreams. Besides, he was no longer here and was likely never to return.

 

That was the graciousness of Fate.

 

Standing up fully, I close my eyes and cross my arms, running my hands slowly up my own arms as I remember other hands having done so, long ago. Elizabeth’s hands are the ones that run over me now and in the beginning, I had been able to accept that and rerun memories of another in her place, but it didn’t last long before even the memories failed to nullify the texture, size, and motion of her hands. Used to be, I could take her in his arms and replace her face and body with that of the other with little problem, but all too soon the imaginary respite faded.

 

She could not replace him.

 

Finally, I gave in and saved the joys of my dream lover’s phantom encounters to exactly what they should have been confined to: my dreams. Swallowing the guilt, I made love to Elizabeth as herself and kept the other’s image as far from our liaisons as was possible. Surprisingly, it took less effort to accept Elizabeth as herself and be done with it, than to try and love her as someone else. I could no longer worry about the differences of her body, the change in her texture from his, and no longer wondered if the name I was moaning was truly hers.

 

Invisible hands were working at the knots in my back.

 

Soft memories were smoothing out the coils in my gut.

 

…

 

Moonlight slanted in through the cross beamed window. The swaying motion of the ship could be easily felt, and the smell of the wind and the sea only added to the atmosphere.

 

 **He** stood there at the window, his back towards me.

 

He knew I was there. Somehow, he always knew.

 

Even beneath the layers of clothing and the soft caresses of the moonlight, I could tell that his muscles were tensed and at the ready. I had never seen him actually relax in the time I had known him. Even in his most easy pose, in the most careless of stances, there was almost this visible quiver of anticipation and energy.

 

I closed the door softly behind me, even that far away I knew that while the other man’s right arm supported him against the wall of the cabin, his left was poised over his dagger.

_“’S rude of ye not to knock, young William”, the voice broke the silence, the huskily deep tones lingering over my skin._

It was strange to hear that voice speak so clearly and soberly, to hear my full name addressed to me.

_“A pirate lecturing on etiquette?”_

_“T’basic rules of privacy still apply on the seas.”_

There was humor in the voice, but it was only a front, a mask to cover the sadness and dull the pain that the solitary night and deep thoughts had awakened.

 

I couldn’t bring myself to answer. He had made a valid point and though a few cutting remarks leapt in my throat, I couldn’t bring myself to make the strike. There was a weariness in his voice that broke my resolve.

 

Minutes passed as he stood at the window never moving nor acknowledging my presence beyond our opening words.

_“I’ll leave you to your ‘privacy’ then.”_

I offered, after what had seemed like an eternity. There was a bitterness that tasted foul on my tongue. He was ignoring me, and it hurt that he could so easily overlook my existence, but it hurt more that it mattered to me. I wanted him to notice me, I wanted his attention… I wanted to keep him from the thoughts that were weighing down around him, but I couldn’t because he wouldn’t let me.

 

I didn’t know where this sudden need for his regard had sprung from and I knew it shouldn’t have been there at all. I had found myself on more than one occasion staring at him as he stood at the helm, the black cased compass that would take me to Elizabeth in his hand, but Elizabeth was never in my thoughts. He was. I found myself musing over him more and more, and Elizabeth less and less...

 

It was in those moments that I caught myself lost in him that I forced my mind towards Elizabeth, the beautiful glory that was my Elizabeth. I made her name stay on my lips, she was the first thing I spoke of in all situations… even when another was on my mind. I spewed her praises even while my thoughts praised another. I forced her to be first in all things, but in my soul, she was becoming second.

 

He was taking her place, had been even before I knew it.

 

I found myself slowly drowning in a growing admiration for him and that burned my insides.

 

He was a pirate, a man with no regard for law or the blessed order of the world. He gave no excuses and followed no publicly accepted moral code. He couldn’t give a shite what other’s thought of him, as long as they kept their distance.

 

And I respected him…

 

As both pirate and man, I respected him. Half of me prays that he knows that, the other half would rather burn in Hell than give him the satisfaction. He was ever one to enjoy having something over on me.

 

But not that night…

As I turned to the door his voice halted my steps.

_“Takin’ off so soon?”_

_“Ah, so you do know I’m here.”_

There was my personality split again as I turned back to him: half of me angered, and the other half pleased.

_“I have no reason to stay.”_

I caught it then, the imperceptible flinch that upset his frame. It wasn’t much but it softened my anger and the tone of his words after left me shaking.

_“Stay if you want, Will.”_

_“And stare at you all night while you ignore me and look at the stars?”_

Sarcasm was second nature to me when it came to him and most of the force of the words was from the knowledge that I would have enjoyed doing just that. I would have gladly sat down, or stood for that matter, and simply watched him look out to whatever held his interest. To have been allowed to study his face, to see what might have haunted him in his eyes, without the need to pretend to be looking beyond him, without the necessity of looking away quickly when caught. That would have been more precious to me than I ever wanted to admit. My side of the battle of wits had long become a façade of fun and habit rather than actual anger.

 

I stared at him for a while, waiting to hear his reply, my hand poised over the door handle. The anger began welling up inside me again and I reached out, grabbing the metal fiercely in my fist…

_“Stay…”_

It was barely a whisper, but I heard it. Above the buzz of anger, I heard it, and my hand fell from the handle to hang lifeless at my side. My whole body was frozen, my eyes staring forward without actually seeing the door. That one word left me helpless as it dangled between us. It had been only one word, but to me it was so much more.

 

It was hope of the most needed kind.

 

I turned then, he was still there at the window, facing away from me. I believe I thought he might have been a phantom or mirage, that the word had been a trick of the wind through the timbers of the hold. I don’t know, but whatever I thought he might have been or what I had actually heard, I hadn’t expected him to still be there.

 

It wouldn’t have been the first time that my mind had played games with me, imagining glances that meant more than what they truly did, hearing underlying tones in the most natural of words. This could have just been a dream like so many I had had before. If it were then I had nothing to lose and if it weren’t… well… a step and a choice had to be made sometime.

 

So, I stepped… literally.

I went to him then, my footsteps soft and even. Something in that word had opened up a box inside me, banishing what was left of my denial and I went to him. The distance between began to close and I could see the rigid set of his shoulders and the slight movement that marked his breathing. Something more than his memories was tormenting him tonight and all I wanted to do was ease the pain.

 

I realized it then, I knew what drove me toward him beyond my sense of right and wrong, even beyond my own will.

 

I loved him.

 

By all rights, that knowledge should have left me shaken. I hadn’t just fallen in love with a pirate, something that a few days ago would have left me sick at the very thought, but I had fallen in love with a **man**. A man for love of the Christ. It went against the very basis of nature, but there it was… and I welcomed it then as I do now. Later I would question it, later I would feel uncertain and uneasy, but then and now I welcomed it.

 

I felt sure and whole as I stood behind him, more so than I had ever felt before in my life and whether it was that new sensation or the way the moonlight fell over his shoulder I ‘ll never know but I reached out to him.

My fingers traced tentatively over his hair, it was tangled and unkempt from the wind that tore at it on deck, but it was also soft, and the strands parted easily before my touch. I heard the hitch in his breath and when I reached the ends of his hair, I lifted my hand to retrace my path again, my fingers surer as they sank deeper. This time my fingers followed the curve of his neck and out over his shoulder, feeling the steel that held him rigid beneath my fingertips.

_“Alright…”_

I whispered it against his hair that smelled of sea and sun as my hand continued out over his arm, I stepped closer, my arm conforming to his easily, my thumb running over his knuckles before my fingers interlaced with his against the windowsill. It felt right, that closeness of our bodies and I practically shuddered each time our breathing brushed our bodies together. He didn’t move into me, but he didn’t move away either and I simply stood there with him, our hands entwined as he looked to the stars and I looked to him.

 

I would take what moments he would give me.

 

Time continued on and I couldn’t have cared less if it had been minutes or days; I just wanted to stay like that as long as he would let me. I took advantage of the time and let my eyes study up close what I had always viewed from afar. He was a masterpiece to me, and I sought to etch every line and shape in my memory, from the way the kohl under his eyes darkened their shades and seemed to add a wickedness to his stare, to the way a thin, pale scar snaked its way down his throat. Every part was beauty to my eyes, and I memorized every curve and shadow. He wasn’t the image of perfection, the Adonis that so many sought, but to me, all of his unique angles and shadings were more endearing because they weren’t perfection. They were different, unique, and entirely beyond perfection.

 

I felt him move then and for a moment I was afraid he would pull away _._

I was afraid until I felt him lean into me, his weight shifting back and settling against my chest. I closed my eyes and let the warmth spread through my body. Then his arm was moving from his dagger, I could feel the muscles and joints as his arm turned back toward me. I think there was a part of me that thought he had drawn his dagger, but even that part was complacent and willingly would have accepted death rather than give up those last few moments next to him. It was flesh rather than steel that met me, as his hand reached down to clasp my wrist, drawing it up and over until my arm encircled his waist.

_“Thanks.”_

My arm tightened instinctively around him, almost fiercely possessive, and I leaned my head forward, resting it in the crook of his neck.

_“Always.”_

I breathed against his neck, my lips murmuring against the scar I had noticed. For a long time after I never understood exactly why I had said that. In my mind I had planned on telling him, ‘anytime’. It would have made more sense at least.

 

It is only now, almost three years later, that I realize why I answered that way. It was a promise, a promise that I didn’t know I had made, a promise that I didn’t keep. I didn’t ‘Always’, I chose Elizabeth over my Always and hurt all three of us.

 

But that is the present and the night is meant for the past. With the blinding sunlight of dawn will come the pain of what is, but the deep shadows of the night are not for pain, they are for joy and reverence of what has been and the time when I sleep, the time right before the dawn and the pain, that is the time for ‘might-have-beens’.

Since I am not subject to either sleep or dawn, I chose to sink back into the oblivion of the past…

 

I stayed with him that night, the two of us simply standing there in the moonlight, each lost in our own thoughts. It was only the beginning…

 

He was a man haunted by his past and I was one haunted by my future.

 

The days past as they always had up on deck, his personal demons driving him on and my own leaving me questioning what made him so Hell-bent and possessed, but the nights were different. Night after night, I came to his room sometimes we would stand at the window as we had that first night and I would hold him again, others, others, I would lean into his embrace as we sat silently on his bed, but there times were when feelings and memories and guilt ran too high in one or both of us and we would spend the night apart.

 

It was after one of those time than I made my way to his room once more. We never apologized, but the meaning was there in a glance or a slight pressure on the other’s hand. Our pride would be our undoing in the end, but not that night. That night was special.

 

The door opened silently before me as it always did and as I shut it, I let my eyes adjust to the moonlight and shadows of the room. He wasn’t at the window that night, nor table, as I had often found him, as if he were waiting for me. I stepped further into the room, scanning for him, wondering if he had taken his thoughts out onto the dark deck above. I had found him there once, I hadn’t approached him that night as I couldn’t let the crew see what was forming between us. He needed their fear and respect, and if they ever found out his attachment to a whelp like me… I don’t know if he could have kept their complete loyalty.

I didn’t want them to know. Hell, I still didn’t even what to know! And he, well… I don’t know what he thought of it. I never asked. In the safety of his quarters we were both different, silent as we enjoyed the presence of the other, both, I think, afraid of what there was between us; above, beneath the eyes of the sun and the crew, we were sarcastic and biting to each other. He took back on his maniacal behaviors, his wobbling yet confident stride, the sharp glint sparked from his eyes, and there was always a lingering feel of rash insanity that had made him a legend and I, I became the self-righteous whelp with nothing more on his mind that the ‘love of his life’s’ safety.

 

It was the moon and her light that knew our alternate selves.

 

Her soft light saw the half of us that we showed to no one but each other and it was that light that drew my eyes to him that night. He was stretched out on the bed, his back to the door, a loose white shirt and tattered breeches covering his form, the sheet lay crumpled and forgotten at the foot of the bed. The sight brought a smile to my face and I didn’t know why.

 

He had never slept during any of our times together, in fact, I had never actually seen him sleep at all. We always parted an hour or so before dawn and he was always up topside, I was informed, long before I had even given a thought to rising.

It was such a surreal and strange sight that I had felt as though I had entered upon something private and forbidden. A voice in my head spoke logic, instructing me to turn back the way I had come and leave him to his rest, but a stronger voice pushed me on, and I gave up on logic and approached the bed. My footsteps were softer than I had ever tread and my breath refused to remain normal, holding long and expelling silently.

 

He never stirred and I stopped, the tip of my boots brushing against the deep colored wood of his bed that held it firmly to the floor. It was not until then that I caught the slight movement that gave away his breathing. His back was toward me, legs sprawled comfortably apart, left arm out away from his body and his right one bent, the hand disappearing beneath the pillow where his head lay. I took my time gazing over him, marveling as I always did when I was given such an opportunity to witness his beauty. Golden skin burned against the white of the shirt and sheets, and his hair fanned out over the pillow, free from the bandana that so often restrained it. The bead work and braids added something exotic to the sight, but it was his face that held my fascination; eyes closed, lips chapped and slightly parted.

 

He was magnificent when he slept.

 

I leaned forward, my right arm moving over him to support me against the bed, so I could better see his face. Perhaps it was the stir of the air as my hand passed over his body or the slight change in the mattress as my hand pressed in, but whatever it was it refreshed my memory as to just who the man before me was and why he had become a legend.

 

I didn’t even notice his movement or just when his eyes had opened and his arm moved, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I couldn’t have done anything to counter. I wouldn’t have been able to have thought of anything anyway. The cold pain of a metal point pressing into the base of my throat was sufficient enough to wipe my mind of everything but that realization that I had erred. The hand under the pillow was an angelic gesture, but with a deadly purpose.

 

I managed to look down, my eyes meeting those I knew so well, but there was nothing of my love in those depths at that moment. Their anger and deadly intent in those uncomprehending voids and I wondering if this was what those who had died at his hands had seen before softer darkness took them.

 

It seemed like forever that I stood that way, leaning over him, his dagger pressing against my skin. Fear had me frozen as I waited, but as time drew on and the emptiness in his eyes continued to stare back at me, I cleared my throat, the point breaking the surface of my skin deep enough to draw blood. I could stand the pain but not the nothingness that had taken over his eyes.

_“Hello, luv.”_

My voice was weak and the humor I had tried to fill it with only made it weak and shaky, but it worked.

 

Light seemed to fill the void, like the moon breaking from a cloud bank, and comprehension come fast behind it. The dagger fell away from my skin and I saw something in them that I hadn’t seen before: fear.

 

_“Will?”_

There was fear in his voice as well and I smiled, trying to soothe it. It didn’t belong in that voice or on that face.

_“Yea, it’s me.”_

He moved now, placing the dagger on the table beside the bed and reached up to my throat, his finger caressing where the blade had punctured. His touch was tender as it moved from my throat to cup my face, his eyes locking on mine.

_“I’m sorry, Will. I didn’ mean tah.”_

I smiled softly, reassuringly as my hand went up to cover his, pressing it firmer against my face. I closed my eyes, letting the feel and scent of him take away the pain.

_“I know. ‘S alright.”_

I opened my eyes then and paused, seeing in his eyes something I hadn’t thought I’d ever witness. I saw desire and love behind the fear.

 

Something changed in the air between us, something moved inside me, and I reached out, my hand cupping the back of his neck, my fingers sinking into the ebony depths of his hair and I leaned forward. It was slow, my eyes watching his for a hint to stop. Our breath mingled and I felt the change in his as it became faster. Then my lips brushed his softly, experimenting as they moved over his lightly. Then I moved back, pausing, my lips a breath from his.

 

I had never been the instigator of anything like this and my courage was faltering, and I waited for his move. I waited for encouragement… and he gave it.

 

I remember how his lips pressed warmly against mine, surer and firmer than what I had been capable of. It is such a precious memory to me, how I could feel his desire and strength in that simple play of lips. Then his hands were on me, holding my waist as he guided me forward onto the bed and into his arms. Arms that were gentle and welcoming, and hands that glided over me as though I were something precious and rare, something to be savored and treasured.

 

Turning to the side, he lay me on the bed, leaning over me as his eyes took in my face. His hand traced over my cheek and into my hair, toying with the strands before he sat up and began untying his shirt.

 

I still remember how it was that night, how I found my strength and courage in his embrace.

 

I moved forward, my hands stopping his as they took up the task of unlacing the strings. He let me, his eyes watching me as I finished and my hands parted the shirt, moving over the sharp curves that formed his chest. The shirt fell away as I pushed it over his shoulders, and he shrugged out of the fabric. I remember smiling at the mysteries the panned out before me on the golden expanse I had uncovered. The jagged, lines that traced his lower left arm, the black and purple discoloration that bloomed above the right side of his chest, even the small, fading scars that scattered over his flesh, all of them became my study. I traced each one, my fingers learning their feel and curves and each one became a treasure to me.

 

I looked up into his eyes, there was something unreadable in them and I hoped that I hadn’t brought up memories that were best left buried.

He smiled at me, his lips curving crookedly, one side tilting higher than the other.

 

Yes, I remember it that well.

 

His smile enchanted me and all I could think was that I wanted my lips on his, pressing against that smile.

 

I leaned up, into him and my hands moved with me, up over his skin and around his neck. This time our lips met as equals, passion matching passion, and as his parted mine opening willingly. The taste of rum had never been so sweet, mingled with the trace of what could only have been him.

 

The tempo had changed and the buildup of feelings and desire that had accumulated danced in the air around us. My heart tripped as I felt his hands on the hem of my shirt, his knuckles skimming over me as he pushed the cloth up and over my head. I closed my eyes and raised my arms, letting the sensation become my world; his hands on my skin. With the shirt gone, I let my arms drape over his shoulders wondering if the force of what building was had broken through him and the fire that I saw in his eyes when I opened mine left me waiting. Where our skin touched, heat flared, strong and welcoming, anticipation building within me, but he was stronger than I was and though his eyes burned and I could feel the desire in his hands, they were gentle and steady. They lingered and traced, caressed and worshiped. His mouth devoured mine with a fever tempered by softness and I trembled beneath it.

 

He guided me down, laying me out beneath him on the bed and as he broke the kiss, I looked up at him seeing what had drawn me to him. There was fire and passion in him, vivacity and energy that radiated in the air around him, but there was strength that held it in check, a control that he could feel in the reigned gentleness of the other’s hand, and beneath it all, buried beneath the layers, was a good heart. That was why I loved him…

 

Why I love him.

 

Even now, in this window, with the wind’s icy fingers playing over my skin, I can feel the phantom heat. The heat that only he ever brought to my flesh. I can feel the trace of his lips as they had moved over me that night, trailing from the corner of my lips where he placed a soft kiss, down along my jaw leaving a heated wake down my throat.

 

I reach up, my hand covering the curve of my neck where he had paused to take his time, lingering over the spot before moving on over my shoulder. The stubble on his chin added the slightest friction to the caress and I found the sensation wonderful.

 

It is a feeling I have long missed.

 

I wonder what he misses about me, if he misses anything.

 

Shaking my head, I turn back to my memories, to the phantoms that make my existence both pain and pleasure. It doesn’t do to dwell on the thoughts of someone else who is no longer around. All you can do is assume and assumptions are based upon the doubts and hopes and feelings of the one assuming and seldom on the actual object of assumption.

 

I only end up tormenting myself when it isn’t necessary. After all, the remembrance of his body against mine is much more pleasant and in those remembrances, I can feel the love that he had for me. In them, my doubts are gone because with both the lightest of caresses and the most searing of grips, his body always gave me one thing, the thing I most needed: the knowledge that I held his heart.

 

It was all that I wanted, and he showed me that night.

 

It could have been below zero and I would still have burned with the heat. All he had to do was touch me and I burned. And he touched me…

 

We discarded the rest of our clothing with a fervor, but at the same time we savored what we uncovered. His hands tracked over my skin, caressing, holding, and gripping. With lips and teeth, he marked my flesh, lingering in spots that he chose. My shoulder, my collarbone, my nipple, even the jut of my hip and the sensitive area of my inner thigh were subject to his will and I let him set the pace. That was what we both wanted… There was no exchange of words or demands that night, we simply knew; he needed me to give myself over to him without reserve, he needed the trust I gave him that night, and I...

 

I simply needed him, needed him to want me, to touch and treasure me.

 

I needed him to accept what I offered and in doing so, to give part of himself to me.

 

It was the beginning of something deeper for both of us, the first of what would be many nights together. An ocean voyage isn’t something that you begin expecting it to be over in a matter of hours or even days and the Isle of de Muerta was no exception. It took weeks to reach our destination and with each day, he became more and more a part of my life, took up more and more of my heart and my mind, but each day brought us closer to the Isle of the Dead, the Pearl, and Elizabeth.

 

She had faded from my mind but not from my lips. I still pursued the role of the frightened lover up on deck, but once the woodened walls of his cabin enclosed us from the eyes of the world she simply disappeared and there was only him. I almost wish it could have lasted, that wonderful absence she took from my thoughts, but she was the reason I had started this voyage, the reason I had rescued him from the bars I had built, and eventually, she found her way back to me.

 

She became more and more tangible each day, growing in my thoughts, but not in my heart. I held him there now and it frightened me that she had so easily fallen from my love. It shamed me that the love I so ardently proclaimed, that the woman I had so long cherished and desired, was becoming nothing more than an obligation, a regretted obligation when I found myself wrapped in my lover’s arms. I began to doubt my own heart. How steadfast and sure was a heart that so easily replaced one for another? Was it love at all? Was this love?

 

How long would he remain in my heart?

 

I would look at him and wonder, during the first days when I began to remember my Elizabeth, if this feeling, this need, this desire would last. I would look at him at the helm, his eyes on the horizon, sparkling with sea and sun and I couldn’t imagine a day going by when I did not love him. I had once thought that of Elizabeth, needing the vision of her in my life, and feeling as though I could not go on without her there, but I had been wrong. She was gone from my sight and had been missing from my mind, yet I breathed and lived and went on. I found another, but would I so easily forget him as I had her? Would I quickly replace his smile and arms so easily were he gone from me she was?

 

Then one evening I found him at the prow of the Interceptor, leaning forward against her rails. The sun was sinking below the horizon, bleeding golden red flames into the sky and the sea had become a mirror of colors, shining in the fading light. The beauty of that moment, when the sun fades, and the sea becomes one with the sky, always leaves me breathless and I stood that evening in awe at the sight and the way the brilliance outlined his frame. He became some unearthly being, in the midst of that play of light and shadow, he was as much a part of the display as the sun or the water. I moved toward him, leaning beside him against the rail and looked out with him, trying to imagine what he saw in the vision before us.

 

_“’Tis beautiful, ain’t it?”_

I smiled, enjoying the deep thrum of his voice, _“That it is.”_

_“I’ll admit that some stretches of land look well with a sunset, but ya need the sea ta make it look right… but this, just pure sea ‘n sky, well, there t’ain’t a more lovely sight.”_

_“You speak as of a lover, Jack.”_

_“That I am, and the sea is my mistress. I love ‘er in all her forms.”_

_“I thought only treasure drew the eye of a pirate.”_

 

He tilted his head and flashed me a smile and my heart tripped into my throat, _“Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.”_

 

He would use those words again, at a time when their meaning would be harsh and skeptical, when his eyes would be filled with resignation and rejection, but then, that first time, his voice was filled with meaning and his eyes told me that he spoke of more than just the sea. Looking at him then, in that sunset, I knew that whatever my feelings had been for Elizabeth, whatever my feelings would be for him in a year’s time or more, I didn’t know nor care. I loved him then and that was enough.

 

It wouldn’t be in the end, but just then…  it was enough.

 

I’m told that time can weather and wear love down and that with time another love can be found to replace what is gone. In my experience with him, it is not so, and I praise the God of sea and sky that I love no other but him. I regret that because of it I cannot give Elizabeth the life and love that a woman of her passion and beauty deserves, but I treasure too much the man who holds what should have been her place in a husband’s heart. I cannot wish that I loved her.

 

It is said that in a captain’s heart there is no room for any love but the love of their ship and in the heart of a pirate naught, but gold and swag and sea hold any value. I have known the heart of both a captain and a pirate, and I swear that in his arms I knew what it was to be valued…  I knew what is was to be loved.

 

Now, whether time passed o’er him as it did me, whether his love and value still linger, I know not nor can I say that I wish him to feel as I do. After all, I let him leave. I let him leave to his Pearl, to the wood and canvas that were her arms. I let him leave and I stood there, watching him go to her side. I swayed on that parapet, wanting to follow, but Elizabeth’s hand held me steady. Latched to mine her hand held me back, with duty, honor, and affection. I had told her I had loved her, and I _had_ at one time, but that was before and not then, or now. The declaration had been meant as an apology and an end, one less obligation left undone. I hadn’t expected us to have lived through that day, I chose him over my life, but I couldn’t leave Elizabeth without explaining the truth of what my feelings had been.

 

She clung to the word love as she had clung to my hand, as any young woman of romance and passion would, expecting, as she stepped to my side, a love that she thought I promised. But it was a love I could no longer give her. She expected me to stay and I couldn’t leave her like that, with a lie, so I stayed, and it was I who was left, left wondering what it would be like to follow.

 

What would he have done if I had? Who would he have chosen? His old love or his new?

 

Even with Elizabeth by my side I hesitated, but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t make him choose.

 

After all, he is Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? The greatest threat left in the Caribbean, a legend and a myth, with a ship swifter than any in the English fleet. A pirate known for his cunning, craft, and skill, but would that have been enough to overbalance the weakness that were his feelings for me?

 

Perhaps I was afraid to follow. Afraid of the of society’s rules and views…

 

Afraid of the freedom and the wonder that that ship and his eyes promised me…

 

Too afraid to take the chance offered me…

 

But God, I wanted him to come back for me. I didn’t go after him, but I wanted him to come back for me…

 

Three nights I spent upon those stones, looking out over the sea to the horizon, waiting to see the black wood and white sails, to smell the scent that was solely him. Even after my wedding, even after Elizabeth and I returned from our honeymoon, I spent my nights out there in the wind, beneath the stars and waited. I still wanted him to return… even now, from my window, I still pray to see that ship breaking view over the horizon.

 

I am always disappointed… but it is my own fault.

 

I won’t claim to be the brightest of men because I’m not. I linger and delay. It takes me eons to comprehend things that most realize in moments, but I always come to in the end and usually having paid for my lapse. It took me a month to realize something about the day he dove off into the water and I was far from my parapet and the stones that comforted me in my thoughts of him. Paris spread out below the balcony of the townhouse Elizabeth’s father had provided, but I cared nothing for the lights and the sounds, I was back in the Caribbean, in another’s body as he swam through the water toward his freedom

 

I heard the waves and the slap of water on rock and wood over the conversations and footsteps of the people below me, I felt the warm waters of the sea on my body rather than the chill wind that ruffled the satin curtains behind me, and when I looked up and out, I saw neither buildings, stars, or lights, what I saw was a cliff of stone that rose up out of the water like a fortress. I was looking through Jack’s eyes and seeing what he must have when he turned to look back for either me or pursuers…

 

What I saw through his eyes, tore at my heart as I thought of what he must have felt.

 

I stood there, watching him leave, but not following. Elizabeth clung to my side and I only just now realized what that must have made him think as he saw me standing with her, English soldiers on either side. Had he felt as betrayed as I had, as he watched me stay with my Elizabeth and I watched him swim towards his Pearl.

 

We were fools before and love had made us worse… and I have paid for it.

 

I almost pray that he hasn’t because it hurts knowing that pain of separation, realizing your cowardice, and living a lie. I could go to him, search for him, leave Elizabeth, but I don’t. I’m afraid to leave, afraid for her but also afraid for me. What happens if I find him and he no longer cares for me? So, I go on pretending. I play it safe and portray the dutiful and doting husband and the only pleasure I get is from my nightly watches and the swing of my hammer upon fire and steel. I am a blacksmith by trade and design, and I mold this life as best I can as I would seek to restore a broken blade.

 

I am a blacksmith…

 

The wind swirls around me and the sea’s scent coats the air. I am a blacksmith, but I am more…

 

I open my eyes and watch as the sky begins to lighten, the faintest of pinks beginning to line the horizon. The sea colors with it, becoming a mirage of shades and shadows and light. Sparkles gleam on the surface that promises the day to be fair, warm, and smooth. On the open ocean, the waves will crest slightly pushing ships to the West, the wind is breezy now but with punch that will fill the sails of a ship full and press it South. As I look out at the harbor and dream of what will be on the open waters this day, I welcome home the longing for the wind and sea, the desire for freedom. And with a joy I never thought I would feel I relish the part of me that is … a pirate.

 

I am a pirate. It runs in my blood, surfacing like a drug when I look at the sea and it burns every time, I watch a ship set out to sea and I am not on board. It took a pirate to bring out the real me… and it took one act of cowardice to force it back beneath the surface.

 

I long for the freedom of the sea like I long for my lover’s caress. I long for his eyes and his arms, his lips and his voice. I long for the days of work and secret glances, of nights full of fury and passion.

 

I long for him…

 

Turning from the window and the sea, from the dreams that and memories that I hold dear, I leave the window open to the warming breeze and the rising sun, to the memories that have softened my pain. I remove my clothing and slip back beneath the sheets, closing my eyes, I lay on my back.

 

I let the memories remain and fuel the dreams that I welcome upon me now. The phantom memories of his kisses, creating more in my dreams, each one different than the last and just as precious…

 

The sun will rise and, in a few hours, so will I, but it will be with the lingering joys of what might have been still playing in my mind. I will rise to the duties of a husband, a landlord, an English citizen, and an actor; fore, it is all an act. I will awake and take up my mask, hiding my heart and myself from the world, but now… now I sink into the warmth of fantasy and as Elizabeth turns to me, snuggling herself into my arms, her hand covering my chest, I drift away from her and I imagine that I am aboard the Pearl and that the arms around me, the body pressed lovingly next to mine is that of Jack Sparrow.

 

I will wake up to reality just to glimpse out at that horizon and wait…

 

I will wait because I know that my Sparrow will come for me because he does not lack the courage as I do…

 

I will live through my day so that I can remember what was and what will be…

 

Until then I will treasure what he has left me with

 

These few stolen moments.

 

These phantom memories…

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published under the account Alexandrite Moonlight at Fanfiction.net


End file.
